


All That Stuff We're So Scared Of

by ABadPlanWellExecuted



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drunk Kissing, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-23 10:38:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3765016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABadPlanWellExecuted/pseuds/ABadPlanWellExecuted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post-TIP/TSP. The Doctor gets drunk and argues about religion with the Holy Brotherhood of San Klah. Rose helps. Barriers come down, and so forth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Drunkenness. There will be some mild, mutually dub-con kissing next chapter, since they’re both a bit sloshed. Also, the Doctor briefly indulges in an atheistic-esque rant about religion, and though the Holy Brotherhood of San Klah doesn’t really care, you might? IDK, just in case. *Rating subject to change*

“I’m just saying,” said Rose over the edge of her drink, “it’s a nice planet, Eprienas.”  She tilted it back and forth, watching the last of the bright red liquid form tracks against the slope of the glass.

Jaine, her new favorite alien bartender, just smiled and pushed a plate of something close to but not quite like pita bread at her.  “Have something to eat with that,” she advised.  “Might as well since your tab’s covered.”

Rose nibbled on a piece of not-pita.  “That’s what I mean,” she explained around the bite.  “You save the world on Eprienas, you get your bar tab covered forever.  That’s really nice.  Not that we’re in it for the reward or anything,” she corrected, straightening up.  “I mean, the Doctor ‘n me, we’d help no matter what.  Most of the time, we aren’t even around for this bit.  Still, s’nice.

She took another sip of her drink, enjoying the warm, steady roll of the alcohol in her system.  “Now take last week’s visit to Stolgeous 8.  The humanish colony, right?”  Rose waved her hand vaguely toward the ceiling in a direction that was, coincidentally, very nearly opposite her intended target.  “We saved the planet’s largest poultry farm from this gigantic chrono-chicken.  And so in honor of our accomplishments, the chicken ranchers decided to name some new bird they’d developed after me.”

Jaine blinked, all three of her purple eyelids fluttering in surprise.  “Well, I guess that’s something, anyway.  A commemorative chicken.”

Rose shook her head.  “Nah, not a chicken–it liked to swim.  I tried to get them to call it The Ducktor, but they wouldn’t have it.  I dunno, something about problems with marketability…”

Jaine poured a pitcher of something beerish and used her third and fourth arms to set some glasses on a serving tray before handing it off to a waiter.  “So, Stolgeous 8, is that where you were last?”

“No.”  On the inside of her glass, the droplets along the rim finally coalesced, sliding down the slope and into the pool of red below.  Rose watched them for a moment and then lifted her drink, felt the liquid’s soft burn in her throat as she swallowed.  “That was somewhere else.”

Jaine looked at her curiously, but tonight was supposed to be about forgetting Krop Tor, so Rose didn’t elaborate–that adventure was finished in any case, so no point dwelling on it.  Just then, someone called for a drink, and Jaine slithered away to do her magic.

Rose swiveled around on her stool and took a moment to let the chemical buzz and the atmosphere in the bar fill her with a feeling of warm camaraderie.  There really was something to be said for hanging around to enjoy the fruits of their labors.

Several tables away, the Doctor looked to be making friends with a group of humanoids in hooded yellow robes.  Or maybe the group of humanoids in hooded yellow robes was politely tolerating him–it was sort of hard to tell from a distance.  He was talking up a storm, though, waving his hands around in excitement as he recounted some story or other. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recalled that he’d been really excited over something they served here.  Some sort of alien alcohol–scarp-something ale–but she couldn’t remember what he’d said about why it was so special.  Judging by the flush on his cheeks, though, it looked like he’d had more than his fair share.

Rose knocked back the last of her own drink and went to check if he was getting himself into the sort of trouble where she should intervene or the sort where she should join in.

The Doctor looked up as she approached, a loose, sloppy grin on his face.  “There she is!  Rose, come meet my new friends, the Holy Brotherhood of San Klah.”  He scooched unsteadily down the bench to make room for her.

“Pleased to meet you,” said the Brother closest to her on the other side of the table.  The rest of the Doctor’s drinking buddies just nodded and raised their glasses.

“Hi,” said Rose with a little wave around the table as she sat.

“So, like I was saying a moment ago,” said the Doctor to the rest of the group, “this is Rose.  My friend Rose.  Rose the Rosebud, just barely blooming yet.”  His smile got wider as he tried to pet her arm.  “Good word that–blooming.  Bloooooooming.”

His lips stretched comically around the word, and his face contorted with the over-pronunciation.  Rose watched this, her eyebrows creeping upward. 

“Oh my god,” she said, laughter bubbling under every word as she stared at his ridiculous expression, “you’re drunk.  You’re so drunk.”

“Am not.”

“Yeah, you are.  You sound just like that time that Jack brought all that hypervodka onboard and dared you to do shots.”  She eyed the table, littered with glasses.  “How much have you had?”

“Plenty,” said one of the Brothers with a smile, raising his glass in a salute.

The Doctor wrinkled up his nose at him.  “You’re just saying that because you’re losing the argument.  He’s losing the argument, Rose.”

“’Course he is,” she said loyally, even though she couldn’t help grinning.  “What are you arguing, anyway?” 

“It’s been a very interesting conversation,” said the Brother closest to them. 

“And your name came up, too,” added another from down the table.

“Oh?” said Rose, batting the Doctor’s hand out of her face.

“We’ve been debating the existence of God,” added the Doctor cheerfully and abandoned his attempt at stroking her hair in favor of taking another swig of his drink.

“Oh,” said Rose.  “Wait, what?”  She cast a quick, practiced eye around the table because this was exactly the sort of thing that usually ended up with them in jail or on a spit over a fire.  Fortunately, most of the Holy Brotherhood was chatting amiably amongst themselves, and nobody looked concerned or like they were thinking about reporting a pair heretical strangers to the authorities.

“And you see, with Rose, it just proves my point,” said the Doctor to the group, continuing from some previous topic as though there’d been no interruption, “because it was a one-in-a-billion chance that I met her.  And then, I um.”  He paused for one blank moment and then laughed.  “I transplanted her.  Stole her away in my ship, a proper alien abduction!”

“Uh,” said Rose as eyebrows all around the table went flying upwards, “no, that’s not quite how it happened.  It was–”

“She’s my precious…precocious…prescriptive…which word is it?  Prescription, ha!”  The Doctor threw his head back, delighted.  “She was like a prescription for me–just what the Doctor ordered!  The very best girl in the world.  Made me all better.”

He leaned over in what was more or less Rose’s direction and reached up, presumably to pat her cheek.  Unfortunately, he overshot and ended up halfway off the bench, threading his fingers through the shaggy locks of the Taurusi sitting at the next table over.  The Taurusi didn’t seem to appreciate it much, judging by the sudden snort and the raking of a hoofed appendage over the floor.

“Sorry,” muttered Rose as she grabbed for the Doctor’s errant hands.  She pulled him firmly back onto the bench and stared at his face, trying to tell how drunk he was by human standards and failing.  He wasn’t slurring his words at all, and most of what he was saying made sense, sort of, but he didn’t exactly sound like himself, and he was so wobbly that she wasn’t sure he’d even be able to walk.  “Doctor, you’ve probably had enough to drink for now.  Maybe it’s time to sober up?”

He blinked at her blearily.  “But I told you.  Scarpaethean ale.”

“Yes,” she said soothingly.  “And I’m sure it’s lovely.  We could get some to go, have it on the TARDIS later, yeah?  Maybe send some drunk texts across time and space.  But right now, I think you’ve had a bit too much.  Do you good to clear your head.”

The Doctor giggled and slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.  “Isn’t she the cutest thing?  She doesn’t understand.”  His pat to the cheek was more accurate this time, in that he managed to find her face.  “Scarpaethean ale contains a mixture of certain triethanol substances at a concentration of over 3.08 parts per million.”

“OK, triethanol substances or whatever.  Just…do the superior biology thing and metabolize it.”

The Doctor drew himself up with as much dignity as was possible in a man unable to stand under his own power.  “Rose,” he said with a sniff, “I am not, in fact, a magical leprechaun.  I cannot just hocus pocus up a state of sobriety for all manner of drunkenness.”

Rose worked this sentence through her (admittedly somewhat intoxicated) head.  “You mean you’re not just drunk, you’re drunk-drunk.  Stuck this way.  For how long, exactly?”

But the Doctor was giggling again.  “Isn’t she funny?   _Drunk-drunk._ ”  He turned toward her and nuzzled his face into her hair, hooking an arm around her neck to hold her still.  There was a brief moment when she could have sworn his lips were on her ear before he finished off with a smacking kiss to her flaming cheek.

“Rose dives right in to everything, too,” he announced to the table at large.  “New worlds, new cultures, new ideas.  She’s utterly incautious about trying beef-flavored slush puppies.  Likes her Protein One with a dash of Three, this one.  And, and,” he slapped the palm of his free hand down on the table for emphasis, “when we have a rough landing and her backside hits the TARDIS grates–or even when we have a very rough landing, and the TARDIS grates hit her backside–she comes up laughing.  Can you believe it?  Just the very best thing, that.  Her laughing, I mean, not her backside hitting the grates.”

“Doctor–”  Rose tried to interrupt, but it was tricky with him still enthusiastically squeezing her neck in the crook of his arm.  With some effort, she managed to duck free as he started talking again.

“And you see,” he said, lurching forward and waggling a finger in the face of every San Klah devotee he could reach, “like I said, it just proves my point–there can’t possibly be a singular god.  If there is any sort of higher order out there, and I’m not admitting that there is, it’s clear that there has to be at least a pantheon, because the universe is definitely run by committee.  There’s no way that any benevolent deity would decide to take this girl, this perfect girl, my absolute soul mate, and stuff her into a body that only lasts a century.”

He was making a gesture with his hands that was probably meant to indicate some sort of soul stuffing but definitely came off as entirely pornographic.  There were a few hoots from nearby tables, and the Taurusi gave several appreciative nostril huffs.

Rose was so distracted by the embarrassment and her attempts to  _make him stop doing that with his fist_  that it took a moment for his words to sink in.  When they did, she flopped down hard on the bench. 

“Oh.”  She blinked, wondering if she’d heard him wrong.  “I’m your soul mate?”

“Course you are,” said the Doctor comfortably, closing his eyes as he settled his head on her shoulder, the spikes of his hair tickling her cheek.  “And I’m yours.  That’s the way it works.”  He waved his arm slowly in an arc, his long fingers spread wide.  “All across the universe.”

“Oh.”

One of the Brotherhood of San Klah grabbed a glass before it could be knocked over, and another one cleared his throat.  “Maybe it’s time he went home to sleep it off,” he suggested kindly. 

Against her shoulder, the Doctor nodded.  “Now there’s a brilliant idea.  Let’s go home, Rose.  Home.  Our home.  Where we live.  Together.”

His hand found hers, and automatically, their fingers laced together.  Rose watched this happen and nodded.  “Yeah, ok.  Let’s go home.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night in a bar, the Doctor and Rose make their way back to the TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Drunkenness. There’s some mild, mutually dub-con kissing, since they’re both a bit sloshed. And maybe some second-hand embarrassment as they stagger back to the TARDIS.

Their exit turned into something of a spectacle.

During the struggle to get the Doctor’s coat back on, somebody sitting at the next table over suddenly realized that these were the two people who had miraculously averted planetary disaster earlier that day, and the resulting fuss was impressive. The Doctor took the opportunity to make a very stirring, if extremely Rose-centric, speech, and it was only after a series of toasts and two additional shots that they were able to leave, amid enthusiastic cheering.

Rose and one of the Holy Brothers slung the Doctor’s arms over their shoulders and led him to the loading port for the navtubes, which would take them back to part of the city where they’d left the TARDIS. That last bit of alcohol had put him into a bit of a stupor, but in the cooler air of the port, he revived enough to stand upright, as long as Rose kept a hand on his arm to steady him. He swayed gently back and forth and blinked owlishly at the tube travelers as they went whizzing past.

“Thanks for your help,” said Rose, flashing a grateful smile at the hooded man, who smiled back and lifted one hand in farewell before slipping back into the bar. Then she pulled the Doctor over to the wall by the tube control panel and started patting him down, shoving her hands into his various coat pockets in search of the thingamajig that made the navtubes work.

As she pawed her way through his collection of bits and bobs, the Doctor attempted to say something, but whatever it was came out in a perplexing jumble of consonants and vowels (or possibly another language).

“What was that?” asked Rose, keeping him upright with one hand as she undid the buttons on his pinstriped jacket with the other. Once it was open, she reached inside to check his breast pocket.

The Doctor stuck his tongue out, gave his jaw an experimental wiggle, and tried again, a little slower this time.

“Sooo…” He stared down, ducking his chin to see where her hands were disappearing inside his jacket. “Frisking me, are we?” Between his inflection and his eyebrows, he managed to seem a little intrigued with the idea.

“Yeah, actually,” said Rose, who had plenty of experience dealing with drunk, flirty mates–most of whom hadn’t proclaimed her their soulmate and waxed on about their shared living arrangements, but still, drunk was drunk. She switched to the pocket on the other side and kept her own words matter-of-fact. “I’m looking for the tube card.”

She paused, her arm halfway buried in his jacket and her elbow pressing into his chest, pinning him to the wall. “There was a card, right? Or something?” Her own memory of the evening had gone a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Chip! Chip chip chippity-chip. A chip. Square and um…” He stared vacantly into the distance for a moment. “Baloooooooue. Bloooue. Blue.”

“D’you remember where you put it?”

“Er, no. Not off the tippy top of my head. Maybe in a pocket? Mine? Yours?” His mouth stretched into a lopsided grin, and one eyebrow arched up. “Shall I frisk you now?”

He groped at her waist, one of his hands finding her hip but the other hitting just off-center from her belly button and catching in the front of her jeans. Rose inhaled sharply at the sensation of his fingers slipping past her denim waistband and brushing against the skin of her stomach. With a wink, he tugged her closer.

He was drunk, she repeated to herself. He was very, very drunk. Only natural that his usual mixed signals would go into overdrive.

A little regretfully, she extracted her hand from his jacket and wriggled out of his grasp. “Nah, no need for that.” Swatting his hands away, she clucked her tongue. “Besides, state you’re in? You’d never manage to find anything. Probably just end up getting your hands all over my bum.”

OK, yeah, she was a little drunk, too.

The Doctor made a noise like eh, maybe that was a viable option, and before Rose could fully process that, he lost equilibrium and started sliding sideways down the wall, eyes widening in alarm. Quickly, she shoved him back up and, trying to focus on the goal–which, she reminder herself firmly, was getting them both safely back to the ship–thrust her hand down his bigger-on-the-inside trouser pocket.

There was a ton of stuff hidden in there, potential piles to dig through. Rose wrinkled her nose as she bent down, reaching farther into the creepy bit of space that ought to have been the Doctor’s crotch but wasn’t. She felt her way through handfuls of coins and piles of wire and was in the process of carefully skirting her way around something squishy when she heard the sound of a door swinging open and the voices of patrons leaving the bar.

Rather than lose what ground she’d gained, Rose kept her arm buried in the Doctor’s pocket but ducked her head, hoping to remain inconspicuous. Realistically, this wasn’t the most mortifying position she’d ever found herself in while traveling with the Doctor, but she’d have just as soon not drawn anybody’s attention at the moment.

Naturally, the Doctor had other plans.

“Hello again,” he called, cheerfully waving at the group. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

There as a moment of awkward silence, swiftly followed by a chorus of wolf whistles and applause, much to Rose’s chagrin. She rolled her eyes as somebody with a telepathy-to-voice translator offered the Doctor their formal congratulations on this latest accomplishment.

The Doctor, however, was delighted. “Yes, thank you, thank you! Our pleasure, really. Happy to be here!”

“Doctor!” Rose glared up at him from his midsection.

He peered down at her. “What?”

She looked pointedly at where her arm was disappearing into his trousers. “I don’t think it’s the planetary rescue they’re cheering for.”

“Oh.” His eyes widened. “Ohhh. Ah, come on, it’s nothing like that,” he tried to explain to their audience, but the crowd was already dispersing. With a sigh, he tipped his head back against the wall with a dull  _thunk_  and muttered, “It’s  _never_ anything like that.”

“Little late for that now,” grumbled Rose, wincing as she came across something sticky. “Uggh. Do you ever clean these things out? And why d’you have so many bloody pockets in the first place?”

“Pockets,” the Doctor informed her with a sniff, “are the hallmark of civilization.”

Rose was about to answer that with another retort, but behind her, the navtube platform beeped and passengers began disembarking. Feeling the beginnings of another rush of embarrassment, she forced her fingers to pick up the pace.

“Don’t worry, nothing to see here!” The Doctor announced loudly to the crowd of people exiting the port. “Nothing untoward is happening! She’s only frisking me! I just happen to have exceptionally civilized dimensionally transcendent trouser pockets.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” said Rose, blushing furiously. She was about to tell him to shut it when, by sheer luck, her fingers closed around something smallish with right-angled edges.

Triumphant, she pulled it free–a square piece of blue plastic. “Gotcha!”

“Ooh, well done,” commented the Doctor, and then his eyebrows popped up, and he goggled at it with interest. “Look there, that’s a navtube chip!”

“Is it?” said Rose with a grin. “How ‘bout that? Hey, what do you say we stop scandalizing the locals and use the chip to take this tube back to the TARDIS?”

“You always come up with all of my very best plans,” proclaimed the Doctor grandly.

Rose swiped the chip through the reader and then helped him over to the loading platform to wait their turn to enter the tube. A computerized voice advised them to keep their hands and feet inside the designated area to avoid any unnecessary delays and/or loss of limb, so she kept his arm slung over her shoulder and grabbed his other hand just in case.

The Doctor took this as an invitation for a hug. With a pleased noise coming from the back of his throat, he gathered her up, trying to bringing her snug against him. There was a brief tangle of limbs, during which he nearly fell over and Rose got her face smooshed into the buttons of his shirt, but they got it straightened out before any damage was done.

“There we are. Comfy?”

“Mm-hmm,” she confirmed against his chest. “But is it OK to be all wrapped ‘round each other like this when we’re about to get loaded into the tube?”

“‘Course it is,” snorted the Doctor. “What sort of tube would it be if it didn’t let people hug? Can’t go around stopping people from hugging! Hugs for the people! Hugging, the universal constant!”

That sounded suspiciously like nonsense to Rose, but since she was pretty sure she’d seen some of the passengers exiting the tube hand in hand, she figured it’d probably be fine. And anyway, the Doctor didn’t seem concerned. He started swaying them both back and forth, humming a song to himself. The pitch wavered some, but the tune was vaguely familiar. It wasn’t until he started adding the words that Rose placed it from old memories of her mum’s music collection.

“Wait, is that Bruce Springsteen?”

The Doctor just grinned and kept singing. “Cuddle up angel, cuddle up my little dove,” he crooned, pulling her tighter.

“It is. It’s Springsteen. It’s Tunnel of Love. Oh my god, Doctor.” Rose began to laugh as the navtube beeped and the loading platform was engulfed in blue light. They were lifted by the anti-gravity field and sucked into the navtube, the sound of the Doctor belting out lyrics in a really atrocious American accent bouncing off the iridescent walls as they hurtled headfirst down the track.

They landed in a giggling heap a moment later, as Rose wasn’t in any state to keep him upright during the exit maneuver. They were saved from actual injury by a deceleration cushion but still ended up with Rose on the ground and the Doctor sprawled on top of her.

He was still humming.

“You nutter.” Rose took a couple of deep breaths, struggling to get air back into her lungs and stop laughing at the same time. “D’you know, I think they could hear you all the way up and down that tube?”

“Good,” he said with a voice partially muffled by her shoulder. “It’s a classic.”

She closed her eyes as his breath warmed her skin. Every now and again, this sort of thing happened–they’d end up a little too close for just friendship, a little too intimate to be strictly platonic. It never went anywhere. The only thing to do was to enjoy these moments as they came–and so she did, basking in the sensation of lying on her back with his weight pressing down on her, even if his hipbone was digging uncomfortably into her thigh. He wasn’t showing any signs of moving, though, so with a bit of a sigh, she started wriggling free.

“Oi, do you have to?” The Doctor stretched a bit and nuzzled his face against her neck. “I’d just gotten comfortable.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re lying on me,” Rose grunted, rocking back and forth to build up enough momentum to roll him off of her.

“We could swap places,” he groused as she tipped him to the side. She pulled her arm free from under him, and he flopped onto his back. “You could be on top. I wouldn’t mind.”

Rose decided to tuck that mental image away for later and staggered to her feet. They’d landed in a small courtyard, surrounded by shopfronts with glowing neon signs and flickering lights. The sky was much darker than when they’d arrived, and it took her a minute to spot the sidestreet where they’d parked the TARDIS.

The Doctor was still lying flat on the ground, eyes closed. “Ought to be easy, ought to be simple enough,” he sang to himself in a near monotone.

“Doctor.” She nudged him with her toe. “Doooooctor.”

“Rose,” he answered, cutting off the last bit of his tuneless mumble. “Rose. I think that maybe I might be a little bit drunk.”

“Just a little bit?”

“A smidge,” he allowed, holding up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate. “An ish. A…a smish.”

Rose grinned, bending over him to tap his cheek. “C’mon,” she ordered, taking his hand and tugging, “up you get. Time to get back to theTARDIS–no lazing about.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a slow smile. “Your smish is my command.” With her help, he stumbled to his feet and as he got vertical, his face lit up. “Rose,” he breathed, groping for her shoulders in an attempt to turn her around. “Rose, look.”

“What?” But he was already staggering forward, and she was forced to follow his lead to keep him from falling on his face. “Doctor?”

“Look at it all.” He stumbled to a halt, swaying precariously. He didn’t seem to notice the near-miss, though, sweeping his arm expansively at their surroundings.

Rose obligingly followed his gesture, taking in the neon lights of the courtyard. “Yeah, it’s very nice. A bit like a shopping mall.”

“No! No, nononono. Well, yes. Technically. But Rose, just look. The world. A whole world,” he breathed. “Full of people and children and little shop sand glowy tubes. Bumbling alien tourists. Several endangered species of beetle. Really amazing alcohol. And we saved it, Rose. We saved all of it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we did.” She beamed at him. “Stuff of legends, that’s us.”

He took all that awe and amazement with the world around them and directed it at her. “That’s us.”

He was leaning in closer and closer with a quiet intensity in his eyes, looking at her like she’d personally hung the moon and all the stars to boot. Rose swallowed hard, unable to stop herself from glancing down at his mouth. She’d almost very nearly convinced herself that they really were about to kiss when the Doctor lost his balance, stumbled forward, and cracked her in the forehead with his chin.

“Bloody buggering hell,  _oww_ ,”she complained, wincing and rubbing her sore head.

“Rose! Are you alright?” In his concern, the Doctor nearly toppled over, and Rose had to grapple him by the lapels to keep him from careening face-first into the pavement. His eyes were wide as saucers, and he kept pawing at her hair in an attempt to inspect her head. “Did you hurt yourself? You ought to be more careful!”

“Me!” she grumbled but as the ache in her head faded, she started giggling–it seemed only fitting that any sort of snog attempts with the Doctor would qualify as an extreme sport. “‘M alright. C’mon, let’s go home.”

She led him across the courtyard and down the side street to where the TARDIS was parked. The Doctor perked up once they reached the ship.

“Oh, look, it’s the TARDIS! Thank goodness.” He leaned a shoulder against one door, smiling at her. “I’ve found it!”

“ _You’ve_  found it,” she muttered as she fished her key out of her pocket. “Useless, you are.”

He cocked an eye at her as she maneuvered around him to fit the key into the lock. “Am not. I am use _ful._  Spilling over with uses.” He groped at the collar of her denim jacket, like he was trying to get his hand underneath it, but his fingers couldn’t quite make their way around the folds of fabric. “I could be put to use for all manner of things.”

The potential innuendo was just too much for her to deal with at that moment, so she snorted instead. “Sure. You’re just lucky nobody in the bar took offense at your gob. Not like we could do much running in this state.” She opened the TARDIS door and then grabbed both his hands. Pulling, she managed to get him up through the doorway.

The Doctor slumped against the interior side of the door, his face creasing into a frown. “Rose. Roooose. Was I being rude?”

Rose was busy trying to figure out how to get him up the ramp. “Dunno. Were you?”

“I don’t remember being rude.” He was quiet a moment and then, as Rose came to the decision to just go with brute force and started dragging him, his eyes went wide.

“Oh, I know what it was. Ohh, Rose,” he groaned as he staggered up the ramp. “You know when I was talking before?”

“Mmm,” said Rose, hauling him along. “Did a lot of that.” She propped him up against the railing and went back to close the door.

“In the bar. When I was talking about you. I didn’t mean it, about your body. I didn’t mean your body was like…like a sausage.”

Rose paused. “Um.”

He sagged against the railing and, with eyes wide and sincere, implored her to believe him. “It’s not like a sausage at all.”

“Doctor,” she said, pulling the door shut and leaning back against it. “Doctor. Doctor.” She rubbed her temple. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well, alright, I didn’t say it like that, exactly, but I sort of inadvertently implied it, with the bit about the stuffing. The soul stuffing?” He did that pornographic thing with his hands again and wobbled against the railing. “Like the filling into a sausage? But I didn’t mean it like that. Like I only like you for your mind or something.”

“That honestly never occurred to me,” said Rose truthfully. “Especially the bit about the sausage.”

“OK, good.” The Doctor nodded repeatedly. “It’s just that, you, the essence of you and who you are, Rose, is so beautiful. So, so beautiful. But you know I like your body, too, right? Because I really do.”

“Right then,” said Rose, flushing all the way up to her ears. “Good to know.” She pushed off the door, intending to walk him the rest of the way to his room, but when she got close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, lingering as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. With one long, slow breath, he inhaled.

The air came back out of him in a whoosh, making his voice gravelly. “ _Really_.”

Rose shuddered, the feeling traveling down her spine to her limbs and on to her fingertips and toes. He was muttering something more into her neck, something approving by the sound of it. His voice vibrated against her skin, his breath was warm, and, oh, wouldn’t it be something to tip her head back, give him the room to reach her throat? The mild goose egg on her forehead was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality, and even so, she couldn’t help squirming, thankful that the bunching fabric of his coat would (hopefully) keep him from noticing the way her hips were rocking forward of their own accord.

“You,” she said, pulling back, half-laughing and half-shivering, “are so drunk. I mean, you’re always flirty, but this right here is a whole new level.”

The Doctor made a tsking noise. “Rose, I’m not flirting with you. This isn’t flirting.”

She tugged at the hem of her shirt, partly to straightening it but mostly to have something to do with her hands. She needed to get her head back in the game–as it was, he’d probably crash the TARDIS into a planet tomorrow to distract them both from dealing with the ramifications of this conversation. Assuming he remembered it. “No?”

“‘Course not,” he scoffed, shaking one arm ineffectually in an attempt to remove his coat. “Think you’d recognize that by now, what with all the flirting we do. Flirting all the time. Flirting up a storm. Flirt flirt flirty flirt flirt! Word’s lost all meaning.” He paused, looking confused and with his arm partially tangled up in the fabric. “What was my point?”

“Um,” said Rose, moving to help him. “S’not flirting?”

“Right! Definitely not flirting.”

“‘Kay.” She managed to work the coat off one shoulder and began trying to negotiate the angles of his elbow.

“No, no flirting. This right here?” He waved his free hand between them, knocking her lightly in the ribs. “This, Rose, this is coming on.”

She paused. “O-oh?”

He looked at her with dark, lidded eyes. “Mm-hmm.”

It was too easy to get distracted by his eyes and voice and lower lip, flushed from drinking, and uggh, she just wanted to bite it, roll it between her teeth a little. Giving herself a mental slap, Rose forced herself to concentrate on getting his coat off. She gave his sleeve a hard tug, pulling his arm free, but somehow still ended up asking, “What’s the difference?”

The Doctor grinned and rolled his other shoulder so that she could slip his coat the rest of the way off. “Flirting is flirting,” he informed her slowly as she draped the coat over the closest coral strut. Shuffling forward, he pressed against her, turning enough in the process that she ended up with her bum against the railing and him in front of her. “Coming on, well, it’s flirting with intent, isn’t it?”

His hands landed on the railing on either side of her so that he was mostly holding himself up. Rose put her hands on his chest to steady him and maybe to keep some space between them. His whole face, his whole attitude was too intense–this wasn’t the usual style of their back and forth at all. Trying to reach more familiar ground, she grinned, poking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth.

“Wow, that stuff really did a number on yah. Kinda wish I had a camera, to be honest.”

Unfazed, the Doctor nodded knowingly. “All part of the plan.” Then he paused and tilted his head to the side a bit. “Can’t quite remember how the plan was supposed to go, but ‘drinking with Rose’ was definitely step one.”

“A plan–sounds important!” she intoned, mock-serious. “You hardly ever have plans. We’d better work through this. So, step one: drink–that’s a big check, as you’re well and truly pissed. And step two?”

The Doctor let go of the railing and brought his hands to her waist. “Rose,” he murmured in that soft, drawn-out way he said her name as he pulled her closer. “Rose Tyler. Can I kiss you now?”

“I dunno, was that step two?” Then she blinked as his words and their meaning connected in her brain. “Wait, you’re serious?” She reached for whatever glib thing she’d been about to say, but as he leaned in and the tip of his nose grazed the top of hers, she drew a blank. He was taking these quick, shallow breaths, each one warm on the corner of her mouth, and her whole body was beginning to vibrate with it.

“What d’you think?” His hands crept up from her waist to her back until he was holding her, thumbs gently stroking her shoulder blades. “Sort of seems like the moment for it, doesn’t it? And trust me, you don’t get a lot of moments like this, even in nine hundred years. It’d be a shame to waste it.” Their foreheads bumped together from his lack of balance. “If I go over that edge, would you jump with me?”

“You’re drunk,” she managed. “We’re…we’re both....” Her upper lip brushed against his mouth on the last word, and the resulting rush of pleasure low in her center left her dizzy.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

He was too close to see properly, too close to focus on anything but the taste of his air and the warmth of his arms and the way his fingers were clumsily kneading her back, plucking at the fabric of her shirt like he’d rather be grabbing it in fistfuls but was holding himself back. And that lip, that damn lower lip, was hovering there, just out of the range of hers. Waiting for her.

Tentatively, she eased forward until there was just a whisper of contact between them. Where her hands were pressed against his chest, she felt him start to shake, but he followed her lead, nothing but the lightest touch of their lips.

A shuddering breath left him, and all at once it was too much, much too much, and there was nothing for it but to kiss him. The tension in her arms fell away, allowing him to come forward, and then his mouth was properly on hers. Lips sloppy and teeth clacking together and tongue, oh, just that soft touch of his tongue, begging entry into her mouth. She responded with a lick of her own, and he whimpered, actually whimpered.

The sound of it was enough to snap her back into reality, a reality where she was kissing the Doctor. Kissing the Doctor.

Actually kissing the Doctor.

No, really.

Her eyes popped open wide, and she pulled back, panting. The taste of him was making her head swim, and when she looked at him, his eyes were half-closed and there was a faint smudge of her lipstick at the crease of his lips. The visual was so good that she almost kissed him again, and she had to cover his slack mouth with her hand to block the temptation. “We shouldn’t do this now. Oh, god. We should wait.”

His mouth moved across her palm in a deliberate caress. “Why’s that?”

“Because.” She took a deep, calming breath, exhaled through her nose. “Reasons.”

“Oh. Those.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sort of tired of them, to be honest.”

Rose rested her forehead against his jaw. “Me too.” She stayed there a moment, a little sad that she hadn’t taken advantage of the chance to bite his lip. “How long until you sober up?”

He tilted his head, scratching her lightly with his chin. “Five hours? Maybe six?”

She took a deep breath. “Alright. Not so long, is it? Let’s wait until then, sleep it off.”

“Oh, fine,” he said, clearly pouting. “It’s not part of the plan, but if you insist.”

She pushed him back a step, and then had to grab the front of his shirt to keep him from toppling over the other way. “Trust me, it’ll be better if we’re both in our right minds.”

“Hmm. Maybe,” he grunted. “But first thing in the morning,” –she took his arm and began leading him through the ship– “we pick up where we left off. The very first. Don’t forget where we left off, Rose.”

“Before breakfast, even?” she asked, tongue between her teeth.

His glare was awfully cold for a man with a mouth bruised red from kissing. “I can tell when you’re mocking me, you know.”

“Sorry,” she said, looking as contrite as was possible under the circumstances (which were definitely giddy to say the least).

“Hmph. But to answer your question, yes. Before breakfast.”

“‘Kay,” said Rose. They reached his bedroom, and she opened the door and pulled him inside. “Sounds good to me.”

She managed to wrangle him out of his suit jacket without too much effort, but the Gordian knot of his tie proved to be more of a challenge for her tired, tipsy brain. Giving up, she guided him so that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, where he plucked at his shoelaces in confusion.

“So many knots,” he sighed. “And buttons. Fasteners. What was I thinking with this outfit? There’s nothing shag-friendly about this outfit.”

“I like it.” Rose wrestled his trainers off heel-first, pausing only a moment to appreciate the word  _shag_  spoken in the Doctor’s voice. “There you go, shoes are sorted.”

He kicked his foot free of a partially dangling trainer and flopped backward on the bed. “Always said you’re brilliant.”

“Thanks,” said Rose, toeing off her own shoes. The Doctor’s bed looked incredibly comfy, like one big puffy cloud, and honestly, who knew where her room had buggered off to. Clearly the sensible thing would be to stay here for the night. She tossed his jacket down on top of him fora cover and then crashed down in the middle of his duvet with a satisfied sigh.

"Brilliant Rose Tyler, in my bed,” the Doctor sighed in appreciation. “And tomorrow, I'll get to see you naked. And touch you naked."

"Um," said Rose, trying not to laugh. "Me naked or you naked?"

The Doctor pursed his lips. "Us naked," he decided. "Both of us, with lots of naked skin. Touching."

"Makes sense."

"Not just handholding."

"'Course not,” she tutted. “Wrists and forearms, too."

"And elbows," he protested. "And shoulders, neck, back, breasts, stomach, buttocks, vulva, thighs, knees–"

"Vulva?" Rose interrupted a little too loudly and before she could stop herself.

"It's the correct term for it," he said fussily. His brown eyes appeared over the edge of his coat, his forehead creased in concern over the accuracy of her vocabulary. "Vagina as applied to the whole area is a misnomer."

"Are we actually having this conversation?" she wondered aloud. "Or did I nod off awhile back?"

“I sincerely hope not.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I’d always pictured myself being a lot more dashing than this in your dreams. ‘Course, I’d hoped to be more dashing than this in reality, too.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said with a sigh. “Not like you’re going to remember any of this in the morning.”

“Will so.”

“Yeah, sure,” she laughed. “You’re so drunk you can’t even get your shoes off.”

“Totally different part of the brain,” he explained with what sounded like long-suffering patience.

“So tomorrow, if I came up to you and said, ‘Hey Doctor, remember last night, all those things you were saying about liking my body and soul and  _vulva_ –‘” Rose paused as they both snorted with laughter. “–You’d say, ‘Yes, Rose, of course! Let us further discuss our relationship in the sober light of day!’”

She was really throwing herself into the role, waving her arms theatrically, and the Doctor rolled onto his side a bit to stare at her. “I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Do not.”

“Do so. Except that’s not what you’d say at all.”

“I might!” he protested.

Rose snorted. “No chance. If I bring it up, you’ll stare at me with your eyes popping out your head and then ‘accidentally’ bump a lever on the console. We’ll hurtle through space, drop straight into a palace, offend a monarch, start a war,  _stop_  a war, cure a disease, stop an invasion, change history, get trapped, escape, save somebody, blow something up, and invent a new dance style. And then, when we finally get back to the TARDIS, you’ll say, ‘Oh, did you ask something, Rose? I wasn’t really listening.’”

The Doctor was giggling. “Okay, that does sound like me. A bit. A smish.” He lay back down, tipped his head back against the pillow so that he could see her. “It’s just because of the reasons, Rose, that’s all. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said softly, dragging a corner of the duvet up over herself.

The Doctor’s voice was getting quiet. “Mmm, good. That’s good.” He patted a hand in her direction, bumping it into her hip until she took it with her own and threaded their fingers together. “G’night, Rose.”

“See you in the morning, Doctor.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Rose wake up after a night of semi-public drunkenness and talk. And such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief, post-alcohol memory loss. Also NSFW.

The lack of any sort of official morning onboard the extra-dimensional time-and-space ship nonetheless did not prevent its unfortunate arrival. 

Rose rolled over onto her back and smacked her fuzzy tongue against the roof of her mouth.  A low level headache was setting up camp right behind her temples, and her mouth tasted like death and regret.  She was seriously considering sliding back into unconsciousness when her bleary eyes landed on a tray on the bedside table.

On it were two tall glasses of water and a bottle of the 26th century hangover tablets the Doctor kept on board. 

“You ship,” Rose muttered in a rusty voice as she scooched and elbowed her way over to the edge of the bed, “you marvelous ship.”  She sat up and swallowed a tablet along with the better part of a glass of water.   Then, as long as she was nearly vertical anyway, she got up to go to the loo, only to stop and squint at her surroundings. 

This was not her bedroom. 

She gave it another hard look and concluded that this was, in fact, the Doctor’s bedroom. 

Glancing back, she saw him sprawled out on the other side of the bed, snoring softly, his tie draped over half his face.

_Huh._

With a shrug, she shuffled to his en suite to use the loo and brush her teeth.  Her toothbrush was waiting for her on the counter, and she gave the wall an absent-minded pat in thanks once she was done.

And then she yawned—the hangover tablets always made her drowsy.  She stumbled back into the bedroom.  _Yawn._   Without thinking twice, she clambered back up onto the Doctor’s bed, rolled over onto her side, and fell back asleep.

***

She woke up much more comfortably the second time around, curled up snug in the duvet, loose, relaxed, and with her headache completely gone.  She yawned and smacked her lips.  Taking her time with the whole blinking and dozing phase seemed like an excellent idea, but then the mattress tilted underneath her as its other occupant shifted his weight.  Rose turned onto her shoulder to see how he was doing.

The Doctor was sitting on the edge of the bed, fumbling with the bottle of tablets and looking a little worse for wear.  He popped a tablet into his mouth and washed it back with the remaining glass of water.  Halfway through drinking, he noticed her watching and swallowed abruptly.

“Morning,” he said, setting the glass back on the tray.  He rubbed a hand over the back of his head and smiled at her sheepishly.

“Mm, morning.”  Rose tried for a pleasant, generic sort of smile, hoping to keep him from freaking out over their shared bed situation.  Not like they weren’t both fully clothed, after all.  “Too much to drink last night.  Think we both just sort of crashed out in here.”

“Did you, ah?”  He gestured at the tray.  “Did you need one of these?”

She rolled onto her back and stretched.  “Had one already, thanks.  It knocked me out for a bit.”

“Good.  That’s…that’s good.”  The Doctor looked a little lost for a moment and then, mouth pressed tight in determination, he lay down on the bed next to her, propping himself up on one side with his elbow.

“I didn’t forget.”  He wagged a finger at her and then tapped his forehead.  “Told you, different part of the brain.”

She looked at him blankly.  “Okay.”

“So here goes.  Rose Tyler,” he said with a nervous grin, “I really do like your body and your mind and your—OK, no, that’s…that’s a bit too much in the sober light of morning.  I promise I’m not going invent a new dance style, though,” he joked, giving her an awkward elbow nudge.

“Good?”  (She assumed, but there’d been a lot of information in that sentence.)  “I mean, that’s good.”

“Might have to get drunk again to finish that line.” 

He was blushing—full-on, pink-cheeked blushing, looking at her with eyes brimming with something like nerves and hope, and it occurred to her rather suddenly that she wasn’t entirely clear on what had actually happened last night.

“Doctor, what the hell are you talking about?”  As the words popped out of her mouth, a dim memory wobbled into view—the TARDIS console room and something about a sausage.  That didn’t make any sense.  She blinked and shook her head to clear it.

The Doctor was staring.  “You don’t remember.”

“Remember what?”  She hoisted herself up into a sitting position.  “You’re being weird.  What did you drink last night, anyway?”

“What did I drink last night?  What did _you_ drink last night?” he demanded, sitting up as well.

She shrugged.  “I dunno.  Something good.  It gave me a headache this morning, though.”

“You don’t remember any of it?” he asked plaintively.  “The bar, the navtube, the stumbling around?  The Holy Brotherhood of San Klah?  The embarrassing bits on the TARDIS?  The _good_ bits on the TARDIS?”

“Hang on.”  His words were setting off sparks in her brain, and she furrowed her brow, trying to latch on to those memories.  They were in there, she could tell, but they were swimming around in the background of her consciousness, like images from a movie she’d watched last week.  “It’s all sort of foggy.”

“Your drink, was it red?”

“Uh.”  She thought about it, remembered the ruby lines dripping down the side of the glass.  “I think so?”

The Doctor’s face fell, and he slumped over at the middle.  “Eprienne wine.  Not too strong, nice buzz, but, from time to time, has a negative effect on the short-term memory of some humans.  Not all humans, or even most humans, but naturally, you’d order it _and_ be the sort to be susceptible and—”

“Wait…”  Her eyes were locked on his mouth as he talked, the distinctive pout of his lower lip, and abruptly the memories got sharper.  “Did—did we kiss?”

“Yes!”  He shot up and thrust a finger in her face.  “Yes, we did.  And you, Rose Tyler, forgot us kissing.  _Again_.”  With a sigh, he collapsed back onto the bed.  “It figures.  Everything that could possibly go wrong with the plan does—planetary disaster, overdose of Scarpathean ale, me singing in public—and still, miraculously, we kiss!  We kiss, Rose, _and you don’t remember it._ ”

“Uhh—” She concentrated, absently running her tongue over her teeth.  “I…sort of remember it.”  

The Doctor groaned.  “The best laid plans of mice and Time Lords, foiled by alien merlot.”

“You had a plan.”  She remembered that, recalled being amused and a little impressed.

“I had a plan,” he confirmed.  “Er, mostly.  A loose outline, at least.”

“How was it supposed to go?”

That rosy hue was making a reappearance on his cheeks.  “Something along the lines of take Rose to Eprienas, go out for drinks someplace with alcohol that can get me properly drunk so we can be equally inebriated, have fun, apply charm, and hope for the best?”  He flashed a weak grin in her direction.

Rose snorted.  “Kind of a shit plan.”

He rolled his eyes in the direction of the ceiling.  “Well, obviously.”

She scooted closer and leaned over his head, her knees sinking into the mattress.  “We really kissed.  Us.”

“Yes.”  He exhaled a sigh full of long-suffering resignation, and it made her hair flutter where it was falling over his face.  “Now I’ll have to come up with a whole new plan, and who knows how long that will take or what sort of horrible disaster will almost certainly crop up to—”

His ramble was cut short as Rose bent down and kissed him.  And, not one to be shy, she opened her mouth against his, swiping her tongue over the seam of his mouth before seizing the opportunity to bite his lower lip. 

The Doctor made a muffled noise—of delight, she hoped—and one of his hands crept up to find a tentative perch on her shoulder.  Rose let her mouth work against his for another moment, gave his lip one last roll of her teeth, and let go to check his reaction.

She was sure—pretty mostly sure—that it’d be a good one.  Not only because of all the talk about last night’s activities and his plan and the hand still resting on her shoulder, but because, even with her heart pounding in her chest, the kiss hadn’t really felt so much daring as obvious _._   As though kissing was the place they were already at, had been at for ages, with both of them just too thick to notice.

(Then again, this was the Doctor, so maybe he’d gape and babble and tell her that she’d misunderstood, that last night had been more of a platonic, unspeakable-joy-of-living kiss.  Ridiculous?  Maybe, but her eyes still darted nervously to his.)

The Doctor was gazing up at her, face alight with glee.  “I was hoping you’d do that.”

Rose giggled as a rush of relief tumbled through her, and she leaned back in to rub their noses together.  “We kissed!  We kissed again!”

“Yes!”  In a flash, he was grabbing her, rolling them both over on the bed as she gave a shriek of laughter.  “We kissed.”  He placed a smacking kiss against her lips.  “We kissed.”  And again, quick against her neck.  “We kissed.”  His mouth found her collarbone, and he licked it and gave it just a bit of a nip.  “There’s no going back, Rose, no way to unring that bell.  We kissed, and we’re just going to have to go on kissing from now on.”

“Yeah?”

He was above her, half on top of her and supporting his weight with an arm on either side of her waist, looking wildly, feverishly happy.  “Oh yes.” 

She shifted her hips under him, enjoying the press of his body against hers.  The feeling brought back another series of memories, but she shoved them aside in favor of the more interesting possibilities of the present.  “Made our bed, now we’ll just have to lie in it?”

“Together,” he said with a lascivious waggle of his eyebrows.

“Uh.”  She tried to choose her words carefully, but there was no getting around the awkwardness.  In any case, this still felt like it was in the range of _obvious_ (plus, it had been _ages_ , and she was starting to get desperate).  Best to get it out of the way.  “Anything else we might want to do in that bed?”

“Ohhh, you want more than just kissing, is that it?  Typical human,” he scolded, shaking his head and tsking at her.  “You get a shiny, brand-new toy—that’d be my lips—and you’re already clamoring for more.”  He shifted his weight onto one arm and found the hem of her shirt with the other, teasing the skin along her stomach.  “Really, just dreadful.”      

“Yeah, we’re the worst.  Though,” she squinted past him and up toward the ceiling, “I’m pretty sure it was you going on about touching last night.  Naked touching?”

The Doctor chuckled and his hand inched upwards along her ribs.  “Touching,” he told her, leaning in close, “can be arranged.”

_Touching, naked skin touching, not just hands—shoulders and neck and breasts and thighs and—_

“Vulva!” she announced abruptly as the memory flared to life.  “That’s what you were going to say!  You like my body and my mind and my—”

The Doctor winced as he ripped his hand out from under her shirt and clapped it over her mouth.  “We really didn’t need to bring that up again.  Did we?  Because I’m thinking that maybe we should pretend that conversation never happened.”

She bit him on the finger and laughed when he yanked his hand away with a squeak.  “You know what, I’m remember all sorts of things now.  I’m your—what was it?  Prescription?”

The Doctor made a face.  “Can’t we at least take our clothes off before we discuss all the foolish things I said and did last night?” he whined.

“I s’pose,” said Rose in a mock-sigh.  She grabbed the hem of her shirt and, without further ceremony, dragged it up over her head, tugging and wiggling until the fabric was pulled free from underneath her. 

The Doctor was staring down at her, open-mouthed.  “That’s…” he said and licked his lips.  “That’s a good start.”

He was looking little flushed, a little rumpled, and she could’ve sworn he was breathing quicker than before.  It made her feel powerful, sent little jolts of pleasure racing down her spine, and she rocked her hips under him without thinking about it.

The Doctor exhaled with a shudder.  With one feather-light finger, he traced the line of her collarbone and then down her chest, over the swell of one breast.  He hooked it in the cup of her bra and tugged, looking hopeful.

Rose responded with a matching tug to his tie and an arched eyebrow.

“Oh,” he said, tearing his eyes away from her to glance down at his shirt, “fair enough.”

He reared back, knees moving to either side of her hips, and started rapidly unknotting his tie.  Rose watched his long fingers expertly pulling loose the loops of fabric, and abruptly felt a rush of heat between her thighs.  He was working quickly, deftly, but she didn’t think she was imagining that slight tremor in his hands—nerves or excitement—and she wondered, if it’d been ages for her, how long it had been for him. 

Struck by a sudden desperation to be skin to skin, she tried to arch up, get a hand behind her back to unfasten her bra, but the angles were made impossible by the sinking mattress.  She propped herself up on her elbows, fishing with one arm to try to snag the band that had ridden up with all the rolling about.  It was just out of reach, her fingertip brushing but not catching it, and she groaned and threw her head back in frustration.

And found him watching her again.

“Sorry,” she muttered.  “Just give me a minute.”

“No, no,” he said, eyebrows raised as his eyes were locked on her bouncing chest.  His tie was off, and his fingers were worked down the row of his shirt buttons.  “By all means, take your time.”

Rose struggled with it a moment more, though, to be fair, she was somewhat distracted by the efficiency of his hands moving quickly from button to button.  When he reached the bottom of his shirt, she let out an irritated sigh.    “I think it’s stuck.”

“Here, let me help you.”  He finished stripping off his shirt and then sat back on his heels to make room to for her to sit upright.  While she ran her hands over the smattering of hair on his chest, he fiddled with the hooks, an increasingly tense look of concentration on his face.  The moment stretched on, and when he was finally reduced to frustrated yanking, Rose started laughing.

“Well, I guess that’s as far as it goes,” she said with a chuckle and a light shrug.  “There’s no getting this bra off.  We’ll have to settle for heavy petting.”

“The hell we will.”  It came out in a mostly put-on growl, but there was a hint of actual desperation in his voice that made her stomach bottom out in anticipation.  “Give me a minute, and I’ll have a special sonic setting worked out.”

Grinning, she stripped the offending garment off over her head without care for the state of the elastic.  Before she’d even gotten it clear of her hair, the Doctor was pushing her back, his mouth at her breast. 

“Much better,” he muttered as she hit the mattress, and he promptly licked her nipple. 

“Fuck.”  Her hands fluttered up to his head.  “Don’t stop.”

“Oh, never,” he replied cheerily, replacing his tongue with his thumb as he moved to sample her other breast.  “Fully prepared to keep this up for ages.”

He was on his hands and knees, straddled over her, his face buried in her chest.  Rose stared up at the ceiling, gasping at the combination of wet heat tugging on sensitive skin and the spikes of his hair tickling her neck and chin.  The strangest sensation started to build up in her middle, a rumbling tremor, and it was so odd, so out of place that it took her a minute to identify it.

She was laughing.

The Doctor released her nipple with a pop as his head snapped up, hair wild, lips wet, and brow furrowed.  He looked so simultaneously debauched and offended that Rose laughed all the harder. 

“What?” he demanded, glaring.  Then his eyes narrowed.  “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“No,” she managed between gasps, “m’not drunk.  It’s just, this.”  She waved a hand between them.  “This.  You know.  We’re half-naked, Doctor, and it’s us, so how did this happen?  And you’re…you’re…”

“I know,” he said testily, “I was there.  Rose, this is some of my best work, and you’re interrupting.  It’s rude to laugh at my attempts to bring you physical pleasure.”

“Sorry, sorry.  Didn’t mean to.”  She reached up to comb his hair back into place and, since now it was allowed, she ran her fingers through the strands, stroking the side of his head.

The annoyance in the Doctor’s expression drained away, and his eyes fluttered shut.

“Just…why  now?” asked Rose.  “What’s different?”  _Is it because of Krop-Tor,_ she didn’t say.

He opened his eyes and just looked at her for a moment, his face carefully blank, and she nearly regretted asking.  Then he cocked an eyebrow and gave her expanse of naked skin an appreciative sweep of his eyes.  “I think the real question is why didn’t this happen sooner?  Really, we ought to be commended.”

He casually touched a fingertip to her chest, above her left breast, and began lightly tracing a circular pattern there, over her heart.

It was a non-answer, and part of her wanted to call him on it.  On the other hand, she could see his point—this still felt natural, lying half-naked under the Doctor, even if the contrast between now and last week when playing with his tie had felt like a bold step still filled her with the strange, hysterical urge to giggle.  The wall between them had been there for as long as she’d known him, but in a flash, it was torn down, crumbled like so much papier-mâché, and of course they were going to touch, going to shag.  Of course. 

“Yeah,” she said with a smile, trying not to squirm under the nearly ticklish sensations of him drawing on her.  “We’ve got great will power.”

“Oh, legendary.”  He finished his design and leaned forward to meet her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.  She dug her fingers into his hair again, and as she reached the shorter bits at the back of his neck, he broke away to kiss her cheek, his mouth making its way to her ear.

“It’s not—it’s not just now.  It’s nothing different.  I’ve wanted you,” he whispered roughly, and she felt matching shudders go through both of them at the confession that he couldn’t quite manage face-to-face.  His lips found her neck.  “I’ve wanted you, Rose, I’ve wanted you.  For so long.”

Her eyelids fluttered shut as he nuzzled his way down her chest, his tongue darting out to taste the valley between her breasts.  He placed a line of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her ribs before blowing a raspberry against her stomach.

The tension of the moment broke—Rose shrieked, laughing, and tried to push his head away.  “Git.”

“Sorry,” he laughed, not sounding particularly remorseful.  “Couldn’t resist.  Serves you right, though.  Now,” he continued before she could protest, “the real question is, why are you still wearing these?”  He slipped his fingers into the front of her jeans and tugged, one eyebrow cocked suggestively. 

A memory flared to life, and Rose grinned.  “Did you do that on purpose last night?  Get your hand in my trousers?”

He grinned back in answer and popped open her front button. 

“Your fingers got into my knickers, too.  All part of the plan?”

At that, the cocky look on his face slipped, replaced by something a little more flustered.  “Er, no.  The plan might have been a little heavy on enthusiasm, a bit light on skillful execution.  Didn’t mean to grope you without, ah.  Without permission.”

“S’alright, I didn’t mind.”  She shifted her hips up to wiggle out of her jeans, and he scooted rapidly back to make room for her to kick them off.  Hooking a thumb into the edge of her knickers, she added, “And you, uh, you have permission now.”  She snapped the elastic lightly.

His gaze grew darker, more intent.  “Take them off.”

Biting her lip, she started to shimmy them down, hitching up to get them over her arse, and drawing it out just a little while he watched.  She snuck a glance down below his waist, just to see if there was evidence of how this was affecting him, but the angles weren’t quite right to catch a glimpse of anything and, more importantly, he was still in his trousers.  “Oi, what about you?  Thought it was supposed to be ‘us naked’ not just me naked, yeah?”

“In a minute,” he growled.  “C’mon, off, off, off.”

Grumbling now, she shoved her knickers to her knees, where he took over and pulled them the rest of the way.  A toss over his shoulder sent them to the floor, and he stared down at her, taking her in.  Gently, he ran his hands over the length of her legs, tracing muscle and sinew. 

When he reached the top of her thighs, Rose raised an eyebrow.  “Your turn, yet?”

The Doctor shook his head.  “No.  This is important.  Need to concentrate.”  His fingers skimmed the soft dip below her hipbone before pausing with his hand on her belly.  “You’re beautiful.”

Rose swallowed.

With deliberation, he placed his hand over the top of her sex, palming her, working his way down, and then slid a finger into the center of her folds.  She was already thoroughly wet, and his expression turned gleeful as he stroked her.  “Ohh, lovely.  Rose.”

“Y—yeah?”

“Nothing.  Just you.  Rose Tyler, in my bed.  Naked,” he flicked a fingertip over her clit, and she gasped, “and wet.  Ready to be touched.”

Her cheeks heated up.  “What about you?  Are you…?”

“What,” he asked, “ready?”  And then in a deeper voice, “Hard?”

She bit her lip and nodded. 

He shifted the angle of his hand so that he could tease her entrance and then slipped one fingertip inside her.  “Yes.”

Rose inhaled sharply.  “Wanna touch you.”

He smiled.  “In a minute,” he repeated.  Deftly, his thumb began stroking her clit as he began gently fucking her with his finger. 

He was leaning in close, watching her with an intense, focused look on his face.  A little self-conscious, she squirmed from the attention.  “What?”

“What d’you mean?”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m learning,” he corrected with a small smile, “what you like.  How you like to be touched.”  A slightly different angle with his fingers made her clench, the muscles of her stomach flexing of their own accord.  “Mm, like that.  Good?”

“Yeah.”

“And that?”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to hold in a moan.

“No, don’t do that,” he scolded.  “The more open your reactions, the more information I get.  And Rose—”  He cocked an eyebrow, looking smug.  “I think you’ll find that I’m a very fast learner.” 

It was such a ridiculous line that a snort of laughter got free before she could stop it.  The Doctor made a face.  “I thought we agreed no laughing.”

“Sorry,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Just for that, I think you owe me some more specific feedback.”  His fingers stilled, and she stopped laughing, shifting her hips in protest.  “C’mon, Rose,” he added, eyes intent on hers.  “Tell me what you’d like.”

“Um…”  She started to flush because this felt like dirty talk, and not just dirty talk but _dirty talk with the Doctor_ , and she didn’t think she was mentally prepared for it.  Honestly, what words was she supposed to use?  Which words did he even _know?_ “Uh…”

He tapped her clit once with his thumb.  “Go on.”

Flummoxed, she wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth, couldn’t stop thinking about his tongue and all the things she’d imagined him doing with it.  “Well…”

“Yes, Rose?”  His hand resumed its work, albeit slower than before.

“You might try, ahh,” she gasped as he increased the pressure.  “Something…something other than just your hand.”  Without even doing it on purpose, she licked her lips wetly, and his eyes lit up.

“Oh, is that it?  You want my mouth down here?” he asked, continuing to work her with his fingers.  “Thought about it before, have you?”

“A smish,” she managed, and he grinned at her, delighted.

“You remembered!”  Then his grin turned absolutely filthy.  “That deserves a reward.”

He slipped off the edge of the bed, and when he tugged at her thigh with his free hand, she scooched down until her legs were hanging over the edge.  Kneeling down, he flashed a devilish look, tossed one of her knees over his shoulder, and licked her. 

The sweep of his tongue was hot and wet against her clit, so different from the rougher texture of his fingers, and she thrust helplessly against his mouth.  His grip on her thigh tightened as he shifted position to keep pace with her. 

Pleasure rolled through her, curling in her belly.  Rose found herself staring up at the ceiling once more as the sensations swept through her, but it wasn’t remotely funny this time, the strange disconnect between old expectations and wonderful, new reality.  How he’d thought of this, wanted it.  Planned it.  She felt his fingers find her entrance again, and she let out a shuddering breath as one and then another slid into her.

He was tasting her, lapping at her, as his fingers kept thrusting, his thumb kept stroking just-right-there-yes, and oh god, her hand found his head, gripped his hair.  As she tugged at his roots, he made a sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a growl, deep in his throat.  And all at once, she was there at the cusp.   Another wet touch of his tongue, and she came, bright and hot and fast against his mouth.

Panting, she threw her head back.  “Holy Tardis of Gallifrey!”

The Doctor’s head popped up, eyes wide, hair wild, and then he barked out a laugh.  “Good?”

“Good,” said, pulling to get him up onto the bed.  “Very good.”

The Doctor crawled up and settled beside her while she caught her breath.  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips with a mouth that smelled of her, and Rose hummed with satisfaction.

“Just give me a mo’” she murmured as he trailed kisses down the curve of her shoulder. 

“Of course,” he replied with a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice.  “Only natural you’d need some time to recover.”

His fingers walked their way up her rib cage, stroked feather-light over the swell of her breast.  She concentrated on taking deep breaths, but it was a challenge, coming down from that high, what with him lying there next to her, waiting.

Rose shifted her still-trembling leg, and through the fabric of his trousers, she felt the hard length of him against her thigh.  She licked her lips and felt him twitch.

“Off,” she said abruptly as the need to see him, to touch him became unbearable.  “Your trousers.  Take them off.”

“You’re sure?” he asked, even as he scrambled back to obey.  “I don’t want to rush you.”

“Now.” 

His hands flew over his trouser fastening, and then he shoved the whole lot down in one go.  Rose shifted up on an elbow to watch.  She tried to get a glimpse of his pants to answers to some old questions of hers, but other things were springing into view in the meantime, more pressing things, and wow.  Wow.  That’s the Doctor’s cock. 

He looked human, entirely human, and she hadn’t really realized until that moment how much she’d wondered about that.  It wasn’t that it would have been a problem—she was more than willing to work with whatever was on offer—but it was nice to know that she wouldn’t have to start from scratch, skill-wise.

The nature of her appraisal must have been a little obvious because the Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Everything all right?” he asked, twisting side to side as he looked down at his own anatomy.  “My apologies if you were hoping for something a little more sci-fi.”

“Shut it,” she said with a laugh, ducking her head to hide the blush.  “Can’t blame a girl for being a little curious.”

“I look indistinguishable from humans everywhere else—why does everybody think that’s the bit that’s going to be different?” he mused, climbing up onto his knees on the bed.  “I mean, the humanoid form, so to speak—very Earth-centric word, that, by the way—is incredibly common throughout the universe—”

“Mm-hmm,” murmured Rose as she got up on her knees and rested a hand on his thigh.

“Now brow ridges, that’d be a different story, because there’s where you see the real genetic variability.  Do you know how many different sort of foreheads there are in this galaxy alone?  Rose?”

But Rose was already leaning in press a kiss on the tip of his cock, lips parted just enough to allow for a tiny slip of tongue.  She twisted to the side just enough to keep an eye on him and had the pleasure of seeing the moment when every last remaining thought fell out of his head. 

After she pulled away, it took a moment for his eyes to refocus.  Rose grinned up at him. 

“You’re brilliant,” he added and had to clear his throat to do it.  “That’s what I meant to say.  Completely brilliaaahhhh…”

She took him in her mouth, as much as she could manage, and his voice stuttered into nothing but an audible exhale.  She worked him gently, keeping an eye on his reactions, trying to get a feel for what he liked, but the Doctor had gone completely still.  The only sign that it was affecting him at all was the tension visible in his arms where he gripped the blanket.  She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.  Concerned, Rose released him and leaned back to get a good look at his face. 

“Alright?” she asked.

His eyes had gone hazy, lidded.  They focused back on her as his tongue wetted his lower lip, and he nodded. 

A slow smile spread across her face.  “Good?”

“Yeah.”

Smiling now, she clucked her tongue.  “Then stop holding back your reactions.  How am I supposed to learn what you like?”

“Cheeky.”  His voice was gravelly, and he cleared his throat.  “I’d forgotten.  It’s been so long, I forgot how it felt to, ah.  To be touched.”

Her breath hitched at that, and she ran her hand down his arm, squeezed his fingers.  “Let me know if it’s too much?”

He nodded, entwining their fingers.

She shifted back down and pulled him into her mouth, keeping her motions soft and slow, easing him into it.  He’d kept hold of her hand, and as she sucked him, his thumb began brushing over the heel of her palm—enough feedback to let her know he was alright.  

Tentatively, she increased the pressure and was rewarded with slight, involuntary thrust of his hips.  He was still petting her hand, though, so she kept it up, adding the fingers of her other hand in a circle around him, squeezing his shaft.

His breaths were coming quicker, and she could feel the tension building in his thighs as he fought to keep himself still.  Wishing she could watch his face, Rose began using her whole hand on him, firm strokes in time with her mouth.  That got a gasp out of him and a noise so good, she wanted to hear it again.  She took him as deeply as she could without gagging and felt him shake.

All at once he was tugging at her hand, pulling her up.  She let go of him and scrambled up, concerned, but he immediately cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

“Rose—” he muttered and then interrupted himself with another kiss. “Rose, can—”  He kissed her again, eager lips catching hers. “Can I—”

He couldn’t seem to stop kissing her long enough to get out whatever it was he had to say.  Her lips curving up, Rose pulled away from his mouth and pressed her forehead into his.  “Yes, Doctor?”

He swallowed audibly.  “I’d like to be inside you.  Please.”

A shudder of anticipation ran through her, and she was nodding without even meaning to.  “Yeah.”  She licked her lips.  “Yeah.”

Drawing him further onto the bed, she chuckled.  “So polite about it, too.  Thought you were supposed to be rude.”

“I’d like to fuck you.”  His eyes had gone dark, and a smile played at the edges of his lips.  “Please.”

A delightful thrum of pleasure broke loose at his words, curling low in her belly.  “Oh yes.  Yeah, let’s do that.  Like this?”  She broke away from him and moved back on the bed, tugging his hand so that he’d follow her. 

The Doctor nodded as he climbed onto the mattress, kneeling over her.  Then he stopped and shook his head.  Shifting off of her, he flipped around so that he was lying back on the mattress beside her.  He pulled at their joined hands to urge her up on top of him.  “Like this?”

Rose nodded, sliding a knee over his narrow hips as she climbed up on him.  “Works for me.  Oh,” she said as another thought occurred.  “Um.  Do we need protection?”

“Nah.  Well,” he continued as he helped her settle over him, “maybe—I’d have to look in to it.  But not right now.”  His hands squeezed her hips, and just as she was bracing herself to hear something creepy about his ability to keep track of her cycle by smell, he added, “I’m only fertile for about three weeks every five hundred days or so.”

“Oh.”  Surprised, Rose tilted her head.  “Convenient.”

He grinned, shifting his hips under her so that his cock was pressing against her.  “Isn’t it, though?”

There was an awkward moment as they worked out the angles.  He was almost there, Rose shifted her hips, and then everything slid into place.  He was inside her. 

“Rose.” 

He was gazing up at her, rapt, and she recognized it, this look on his face, had seen it before in bright flashes and brilliant moments of adventure, and she loved it, loved him.

“Doctor.”

He shifted his hips, a tentative thrust.  “Hello.”

“‘Lo,” she answered on the tail end of a gasp and grinned down at him.  Using her knees, she rocked up and sunk down on him.

His eyelids fluttered as he thrust up to meet her.  “Oh yes.  Keep doing that.”

“Your wish is my command,” she told him, and he gasped out a laugh.

It took a moment to settle into the right rhythm, and once they had it, they both grinned at each other like idiots, pleased with their own teamwork.  While she moved over him, his hands roamed over her, fingertips grazing the skin of her thighs, hips, waist.  Then he found her clit with his thumb, and she gasped.

His fingers stilled.  “Okay?”

“Mmhmm.”  She licked her lips.  “S’good.  Keep doing that.”

He grinned up at her and gently flicked her again, making her clench around him.  “Yes ma’am.”  His other hand gripped her hip as he helped guide her in time with his thrusts.

Rose put one hand splayed across his chest to keep her balance.  His hearts were thumping under her fingers, and as she sped up, so did they.  The rhythm became shorter, choppier as she tried to chase the high that was just out of reach.

“Can you come again?”

“Maybe,” she gasped.  “I hadn’t thought I would, after before, but…”  She strained for it, wrinkling up her forehead, but while it was good, very good, she couldn’t quite build to that next level.

“Here.”  His hand at her hip pulled her to a stop, and he nudged her off of him.  Abruptly, he reared up, catching her before she could fall backward at the sudden movement.  “I’ve got an idea.” 

Rose untangled her legs and then promptly found herself thumping down with her back on the bed.   The Doctor dragged a pillow over and in a quick maneuver, urged her to lift up so he could get it under her arse.

He paused for a second to look her over and gave an appreciative eyebrow waggle, surprising a laugh out of her.  Then he snagged her hand, guided it to her clit. 

“You work on that,” he told her.  “And I’ll take care of this…”  She felt his hand at her entrance, felt his finger slide in, so much smaller after his cock.  He pressed up until he found the spot that made her buck and then paused for a moment, tilting his head like he was calculating the angles.  He nodded, apparently satisfied.  Crawling over her, he guided himself into her, following the same path as his fingers.  As his cock hit that delightful spot, she whimpered.

“Alright?”  His voice was rough, strained as he kept his thrusts on target. 

“Yeah.” 

He shifted his weight onto one arm, and brought the other hand to her breast, thumbing her nipple.  “Good?” 

“Yeah,” she answered, and it came out as a cry as the pressure built inside her.  She played with her clit and let her fingers slide lower to stroke the shaft of his cock.

The Doctor growled, and his thrusts became harder.  “Are you going to come again for me, Rose?” When she answered with another moan, he reached up to cup her face.  “Didn’t get to watch you last time.  Want to see it.”

She nodded, and he dipped to meet her lips in a sloppy kiss.  She could taste his breath, hot on her face.  There was a sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead and at his temples, making his hair damp.  His eyes were locked on hers. 

“Every day,” he panted.  “Wanna see you come every day, Rose.  In all the way I’ve imagined.  And all the new ones I’ll think up.  And all the ones you’ve already come up with that I’d never dreamed of because you are So. Very. Brilliant.” 

He kissed her again, their teeth scraping together, and started thrusting into her harder, deeper.  Rose began bucking up to meet him, reaching for the orgasm that was almost there, very nearly…

“Please,” he gritted out, and she broke underneath him, clenching around him and crying out as pleasure pulsed through her.  A few more thrusts, and then with a shudder, he followed her.  Rose came back to herself just in time to see his flushed mouth hanging open as he came.

When he finished, he collapsed over her, thoroughly limp and still except where his hearts were hammering against her chest.  She pressed a kiss against his jaw and snuggled into the mattress.  He was heavy, but _good_ -heavy, a solid weight that felt reassuringly real.

A moment later, a tremor ran through him, his breath tickling her neck as he laughed. 

“What?”  She tried to shift him with her shoulder.  “Doctor?”

Before he answered, he eased himself out of her and then, still giggling, rolled to the side.  “Can I just say, emphatically, once and for all, that I really do love your body and your mind and—”

“Oh, god, don’t,” groaned Rose, half-laughing and nudging him with her elbow when he snickered.  Then her brain caught up with what she’d just heard, that one word alteration to the joke, and she swallowed.  “Yeah.  Me too.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “You love your body, mind, and er, parts beyond?”  He cast a glance down her sprawling, thoroughly debauched form.  “Well, can’t say I blame you.”

She shoved him at him weakly.  “Git.  You know what I mean.”  

His smile grew warmer, and he pressed a kiss against her shoulder.  “Always.”

They spent a happy, quiet moment together.  The Doctor draped his arm over her middle, and Rose took his hand in hers, played with his long fingers.

“So did everything go according to your plan?” she asked eventually.

The Doctor snorted.  “When does it ever? Still,” he added, shifting so that he could prop his chin on her shoulder, “mission accomplished and all that.” 

Rose snickered.  “Still can’t believe you actually set out to shag me.”

“Oi, I didn’t!”  His voice leapt up in an indignant squeak.  “Just kissing, that was as far as the plan went.  Anything past that was just…just improvisation.”

“Making it up as you go along?”

“Exactly.”  He paused a moment and then added, “To be fair, the probabilities were high.”

“You don’t say,” Rose chuckled.  She spent another moment exploring his hand and then asked, “Really though, why now?”

The Doctor took a long breath, threaded their fingers together.  “Because living in fear never did anybody any good,” he said at last. 

Rose nodded.  “So we’ll live in hope instead.”

The Doctor smiled and leaned in.  “You know, I quite like hope,” he said and kissed her.

 


End file.
